


a splash quite unnoticed

by kafferosterier



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:47:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27885484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kafferosterier/pseuds/kafferosterier
Summary: Charles Leclerc, and flying too close to the sun.
Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Sebastian Vettel
Kudos: 29





	a splash quite unnoticed

**Author's Note:**

> Title from William Carlos Williams "Landscape with the fall of Icarus", which builds on the painting of Bruegel

  
  


I

It’s not springtime, as Bruegel had imagined. Instead it is gloomy November, the year soon to end. 

On track, the heavy drops of rain have finally dried up, though far too late for anything to change. Still, the red car goes round the track, in an neverending chase that seems to make less sense than ever. 

His hands are cold. Despite the thick gloves and the steaming hot cockpit. Cold to the bone, one bad turn and his finger will break off. 

In front of him, Seb’s car shows a flash of red as he brakes for the incoming corner — much later than his last lap, yet too early to change anything. 

Charles passes him in a flurry of water droplets and sparks. A short message on the radio, answer, hit the throttle. 

A flash of heat as the other car disappears in his mirror, perhaps of shame, perhaps of glee. Is this not the game they both are players of?

Later, an idiotic mistake and a selfish steal later, Charles finds himself standing beneath the podium, straining his neck upward to see Sebastian climbin the last step. 

Sebastian is all smiles, of course, despite the mexican flag wrongfully hovering above him, and the tones of the german national anthem booming over the speakers, for a team not his own. 

The pink team cheers louder for Seb than the red team does, it’s almost poetic. 

Charles’ hands are cold.

II

Sebastian smiles through his interviews, and then invites himself into Charles’ hotel room. Barely even knocks, as if they are at that level of intimacy. 

He never kisses Charles on the lips, not even in victory. Clearly, Seb knows where the line between intimacy and easy fucks goes, at least he knows better than Charles does. 

Charles lets the warmth of Sebastian soak into him, lets his fragile stearine body melt around him.  _ Take me until I burn.  _

Having him this close, his hot breath only millimeters from his ear, the weight of a hand around his neck. 

The Greeks would call it catharsis. Charles wants to call it love. 

When it’s over, and only the slightest of heat reaches over from where Seb lies with his back turned to him, he finds himself staring at the ceiling. 

Charles Leclerc, a formula one driver. An athlete in chase of the perfect lap, forever aiming for the shortest time and quickest corners and the top step of the podium, the one closest to the sky. 

Charles Leclerc, currently running the palm of his hand in the empty space on the mattress between them, where the fabric of the sheets already has gone cold. 

Lightly, Sebastian lets out a deep sigh in his sleep, a soft sound from the deep of his throat, and Charles has to turn away. 

This is not for his ears, never has been. 

In the morning, they eat breakfast at the same time, seated at the table. 

Charles holds his cup of coffee close as he watches the sun rise above the horizon. It will be a beautiful day, he can already see. 

In front of him, Sebastian’s still full cup stands forgotten, as the owner makes himself busy reading the news on his phone. A small smile tugs on his lips as the sound of a message rings through the room, and he quickly taps the screen in a response. 

If Charles looks closely, there are half-moon shaped indents on the inside of Sebastian’s wrist. Still visible, despite the many hours since they were made. 

Perhaps they were made in passion, or as a half-hearted show of possession, but in the morning light, the marks only look pathetic. The remnants of a man clinging to something he rightfully cannot have. 

Charles’ skin is unmarked, not even the remnants of a lover’s bite adorning him. 

If Seb holds any love to him, he doesn’t show it in the way of bodily dominance. In what way he actually shows affection, Charles is still to figure out.

In the end, Sebastian never finishes his coffee, and it stands cold and forgotten on the dining table. 

Charles looks at it, wondering if there is a hidden metaphor somewhere in there. Leaves the dish for the cleaning staff before he manages to find any answer. 

III

After Bahrain. After all of it — 

_ the crash _ , 

_ the crash, _

_ the fact that one of them almost died today —  _

they don’t talk much. 

The extensive debrief drags by for what seems like hours, without Seb even looking at him. When discussing the start;  _ Charles’ start _ , Seb talks in circles about the incident, just like he had done with the press. 

As if he hasn’t shouted to the entire world that he’d wished they’d crashed, just like in Austria. 

In turn, Charles doesn’t say anything either, and doesn’t give him the satisfaction of apologising to him directly. Instead says sorry to the team as a whole, in that polite unspecific way he knows Sebastian hates. 

He tries to make it up afterwards, in the only way he knows. 

Sebastian responds by shoving him away with both his hands, the force pushing Charles out of the doorway, almost to the wall of the opposing side of the hallway. 

“Don’t touch me!” he snarls, before forcing the door closed, leaving Charles alone in the hallway. 

A snap of molten wax, a feather falling to the floor, a handprint burning through the fabric of his shirt. 

Charles stares at the closed door. Feels like falling, feels like running out of time. 

Two races before he hits the water. 


End file.
